


The Time is Out of Joint

by onceandforall



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Haunted Houses, M/M, a tiny bit of horror?, so fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-06
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2018-07-21 20:53:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7404133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onceandforall/pseuds/onceandforall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hisoka dares Killua to spend the night at a haunted house. Killua doesn't believe in ghosts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Time is Out of Joint

**Author's Note:**

> working titles include "Who Ya Gonna Call?" and "Triple Dog Dare". let's be thankful that neither of those became the final title. huge huge huge thanks to [ella](http://archiveofourown.org/users/strictlyintocasnow/pseuds/ella) and alex for the beta and sarah for being my cheerleader. if you're curious, the song (theme song?) for this fic is [Past Lives by BØRNS](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cux2qJjApGA)
> 
> enjoy reading!

Let us go in together,  
And still your fingers on your lips, I pray.  
The time is out of joint—O cursèd spite,  
That ever I was born to set it right!  
Nay, come, let's go together. 

Hamlet 

 

 

 

Time stands still.

 

The playground is eerie at this time of day, the afternoon sunlight bathing the entire area in orange shadows. Killua is standing on one of the swings, leaving adequate space between himself and Hisoka. Killua isn’t quite sure why he is here in the first place; Hisoka had invited him, telling him that he had something interesting to say, and Killua had come despite all the warning signs.

 

Which were, unexpectedly, Illumi telling him that he shouldn’t come.

 

(Despite Illumi’s own words, he is here as well.)  

 

“He’s not going to do it,” Hisoka says, smirking. He looks at Killua. “Are you?” He’s the only one out of the three of them that is putting the playground to its proper use. He swings so high that Killua thinks he’s going to slide off the seat and fall off. Or maybe he’ll fall off and start flying. This is Hisoka, after all, and anything is possible with him. Neither happens, and Killua is left feeling mildly disappointed.

 

“Don’t taunt him, Hisoka,” Illumi says, bored. He’s leaning against the swingset, his disinterest evident in every apathetic movement. Even his sighs seem to run stale. He takes his hair out of its loose ponytail, lets it tumble down to the small of his back, and then reties it all in a quick, effortless action. When Hisoka doesn’t respond, Illumi glares at him.

 

At the apex of his swing, Hisoka catches Illumi’s eye and winks. He swings back and when he comes forward again, he jumps off. He lands in the woodchips with the grace of a dancer and brushes off his spotless pants for emphasis.  “Bedroom eyes?” Hisoka grins and bites his lips. Killua has no idea how anyone ever finds Hisoka seductive. “Here? I didn’t know there was a secret voyeur in you, Illumi.”

 

Illumi rolls his eyes and Killua gags.

 

Hisoka laughs and then turns to point at Killua. His finger is accusing, daring. “So, will you do it?”

 

“No,” Illumi states at the same time Killua says, “Sure.”

 

Killua jumps off the swing, the woodchips scattering around him. He puts his hands in his pockets. “Why not?” he asks. “Haunted houses don’t exist.”

 

“Killu,” Illumi protests. “It’s not a dare.”

 

Hisoka agrees, “It’s not.”  All his words do is reinforce the idea that it actually is a dare. Hisoka had brought Killua here because he knows Killua can’t say no to a challenge, especially if Hisoka is the one to deal it out. But what does Hisoka get out of saying that Killua doesn’t have the courage to spend a night in a haunted house?

 

“I’ll do it,” Killua says. He looks directly at Hisoka, feeling his brother’s overbearing stare bore into the back of his head. “There are no such things as ghosts anyway.”

 

“If that’s what you think,” Hisoka replies. He winks.

 

\--

 

“Did you think this through?” Kurapika asks just as Killua shouts, “Here! Here! Turn here!” and Leorio makes a sharp turn in response. The three of them get violently jerked to the side, and Kurapika grips the side of the door to keep his face from crashing into the window. The wheels squeal against the pavement. Leorio is not the best driver in the world, but coupled with Killua’s inability to give out precise instructions, Kurapika is sincerely fearing for his life. But Leorio is the only one out of the three of them that has a license. (And more importantly, a car.)

 

“Tell me before the turn is already here!” Leorio huffs. His fingers grip the steering wheel so tightly that they’re starting to turn white. He’s anxious, or maybe excited. With Leorio those two emotions walk a thin line.

 

Killua looks out the window. He seems unaffected by Leorio’s dodgy driving skills. “Doesn’t matter. We’re here anyway,” he announces.

 

Leorio slams on the brakes and everyone in the car jolts forward. Kurapika has to put a hand out so he doesn’t smash his head against the dashboard. He doesn’t want to imagine what would have happened if he did not have his seatbelt on.

 

Leorio bangs his hands on the wheel, irritated. “Before!”

 

\--

 

They park down the street, not wanting to get caught for breaking and entering. (Technicalities.)

 

The house is abandoned, but it doesn’t look empty. It looks everything but: the flowers in front of the porch are full and blooming; the grass is crisp from being recently cut; the outside of the house has a fresh coat of paint. The only thing that tells the three teenagers that this house is empty is the whispered stories surrounding it.

 

“This is the haunted house?” Killua asks, incredulous. He knows, objectively, that ghosts have no scientific basis to them and therefore there’s no way for them to possibly exist, but there was a hopeful part of him (a part that was bigger than he is willing to admit) that was expecting a looming building with shadows that turned the place dark and dangerous, with stairs that creaked when you walked on them, with displaced shadows in arched windows that made you feel deranged. He wanted to be surprised, mildly scared.

 

Instead he feels underwhelmed.

 

What Killua gets is a house that seems like it’s ready to jump on the market and be sold within the week. Its realtor would be a pretty lady with an even prettier spread of dessert. Killua would take all the chocolate and leave.

 

“It’s somehow creepier like this,” Kurapika says. He’s carrying their sleeping bags along with other things that the three of them deemed important enough to bring into a _supposedly_ haunted house. (Read: two decks of cards, three different types of sodas, a few bags of Chocolate Balls, a flashlight, a portable phone charger.)

 

Killua realizes that Kurapika is right. He was expecting for something to be off about the house’s exterior, a physical reason behind all the rumors, but it’s perfect. Too perfect. Killua’s heartbeat starts to speed up. But maybe the house is just perfect because there is nothing wrong with it.

 

After all, ghosts don’t exists. After all, ghosts can’t exist.

 

The house is almost perfect on the inside as well. Almost, since Leorio tries the lights and finds that they don’t work. He flips the switch up and down a few more times just to be _really_ sure that they’re useless. “When was the last time someone actually lived here?” he asks. He tries to turn on the lights once more, but nothing happens.

 

No bulbs burst. There are no sudden flares of lights. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. Zero.

 

Killua shrugs. He didn’t do much research into the house because he hadn’t thought there was an actual need for it. All he had to do was stay the night. Hisoka’s dare-not-dare didn’t also include him knowing the history of the house. “I don’t know. Four, five years?” He walks down the hallway and peers into the first room he sees. He assumes it’s supposed to be a living room, but there’s nothing but old wooden floors and a thin layer of dust on the window sills.

 

“I looked it up after Killua asked us to come,” Kurapika says, following behind Killua. He gives the room a quick once-over before continuing. “The last owners were here five years ago. No one’s stayed since.”

 

“Why not?” Leorio asks.

 

“That’s what I’m wondering too,” Kurapika admits. “I tried to find out, but there’s nothing there. Everyone that stays here moves away for mundane reasons: job promotion, marriage, you know.”

 

Killua sets down his bags and then stretches his hands over his head. It’s only mid afternoon, but it’s been a long week and Killua is suddenly overcome with sleepiness. He shrugs it off; this is not the time to be sleeping. The house doesn’t look like it could be harbouring any ghosts, but it still is an abandoned house and it is begging to be explored. “So what’s with the ghost rumors then?” he asks, because he’s curious. He looks around the room. It’s so bare that it makes Killua feel like he’s violating the area. “Aren’t hauntings supposed to be from gruesome deaths and spirits looking for revenge?”

 

Leorio teases, “Thought you didn’t believe in ghosts.”

 

“Someone died in the house,” Kurapika says. No doors slam. The room doesn’t grow colder. The windows don’t suddenly throw themselves open. Killua doesn’t get a sudden chill running up his back. “He was sixteen.”

 

Kurapika and Leorio turn to look at Killua as if he’s going to drop dead, as if Killua also being sixteen means that he is also going to die right this very second. Killua looks back at them, unamused.  

 

The floorboards creak, but that’s just Killua moving across them.

 

\--

 

They find the house extremely empty. Although empty might not be the best of words. There’s something, and that something is dust. It coats everything and it causes their eyes to water, makes their noses run. Coupled with the spring season, Killua is finding himself sneezing every five minutes. His head hurts, and he voices his complaints.

 

“We didn’t pack any medicine,” Kurapika says. They’re on the third and topmost story, trying to find a way into the attic, if there is even an attic.

 

“There has to be an attic,” Killua had said when they had finished exploring the second floor. They found nothing of interest and Killua had felt his excitement deplete. What was the point of exploring a house and finding nothing? Even so, Killua was winning this dare, but it would help if the house had something interesting in it to pass the time.

 

“Bummer,” Killua says, then sneezes. It’s just about sunset, and because of the no-electricity situation they are in, they probably have a little under thirty minutes left to explore. He walks down the hallway, away from where Kurapika and Leorio are, and towards the window at the end. It’s huge, almost taking up the entire wall. If Killua stretched his arms out, his fingertips would barely be touching the edges.

 

The window is facing the back of the house, and Killua can see the huge tree growing in the middle of the yard. From his position Killua can only see the top of the tree, but he can still see the flowers. They are small bunches of purple growing in patches that decorate the tree like Christmas lights.

 

It’s so breathtakingly beautiful that Killua can’t fathom why anyone would ever want to leave this house. Standing in front of the window and watching the sun sink lower and lower in the sky, time seems to not exist. Here, it’s just Killua and the scene in front of him: the graceful, melancholic picturesque, and nothing else. Why would anyone want to move away from this scene? He doesn’t. He can’t imagine himself being anywhere but here.

 

A hand grabs his shoulder and the scene falls. It’s just a tree, little tissue-paper looking flowers catching the light. The sun is still setting, cotton-candy hues, but it’s not as beautiful as before. Was it ever that beautiful?

 

“Killua?” Leorio says. Killua hazily looks up to see Leorio grabbing his shoulder. Why is Leorio grabbing his shoulder? “You okay?”

 

Killua blinks and everything rapidly comes into focus. Hisoka had dared Killua to spend a night at the haunted house. They’re in the house. They’re on the third floor. They’re looking for the attic. “I’m fine,” he says. His voice wavers and he doesn't know why. “I’m fine,” he says again.

 

Leorio looks at him, questioningly, but he doesn't push it. “We found the door to the attic.”

 

Killua nods. His head doesn’t hurt so much as it did before. “So we’re going up there?”

 

Leorio shakes his head. “Nah, it’s locked. Kind of weird that it’s the only door in the entire house that’s locked, huh?” He’s tapping his foot, uneasy.

 

“Yeah,” Killua says. Leorio’s emotions are contagious and a wave of paranoia washes over Killua before he can protest it. “Weird.”

 

\--

 

It gets even weirder.

 

Killua tries the door just for the fun of it and to his surprise it easily opens. He looks at the doorknob, at his hand on the doorknob, at the actual door. _But didn’t they just say that it was locked?_ He lets go the knob, stunned, and the door creaks completely open. It’s pitch black inside and the little sunlight that filters through the windows only make the stairs in front of him look unstable and unused, a stark contrast to the relative tidiness of rest of the house.

 

The reality that this house is abandoned hits Killua now.

 

Not haunted. Just abandoned.

 

“Holy shit,” Leorio says. Killua is thinking the exact same thing.

 

“How’d you open it?” Kurapika asks. Killua is also wondering the exact same thing.

 

Killua looks at his hands, trying to find something different with them. But they’re exactly the same as they were a moment ago. There’s nothing different about them. Killua flips them to look at his palms. They’re just hands. They’re not special, not magical. They just are. He turns to his friends. “I don’t know. Should we go in?”

 

He’s hoping they say no. Not because he actually thinks the house is haunted (Killua doesn’t believe in ghosts), but between Leorio’s worry and now the locked-but-unlocked door, the house is starting to creep him out. The added layer of darkness that is slowly monopolizing the space isn’t making the atmosphere any less threatening.

 

They both say yes – an almost too eager type of yes– but when Killua turns back to the door, there’s nothing there. There’s no door. There’s just a wall. Killua lets out a low and unnerved laugh. He tells himself that there isn’t anything wrong, but when he reaches out and touches the wall in front of him, it’s solid. There are no marks or blemishes or anything that would indicate that there is something behind it, that there was a door there just seconds ago.

 

_There was a door there just seconds ago._

 

Killua slowly backs away from the door – the wall. He backs away from the wall. “Guess we can’t go now,” Killua jokes, but his voice is small and flat. He gets no response, his friends in the same state of speechless horror. He turns to face his friends as he asks, “Right?”

 

There’s no one behind him.

 

A sudden panic engulfs Killua.

 

Not knowing what to do, only knowing that the door that should be there is not there and that his friends that were just behind him have vanished, he runs _._ He runs until his chest is bursting and his legs beg him to stop. The sun fully dips into the sky and Killua is in the dark, running only by the light of the moon. He keeps running. He runs until he feels drops of sweat beading on his forehead. Suddenly the moon is no longer there and there’s only blackness surrounding Killua. He runs and the hallway seems to run with him, stretching farther and farther, the end always just out of reach. The darkness chases him, threatens his very being. He runs and he feels like he is going in circles, an endless loop of time that spins him dizzy.

 

He runs and runs and runs straight into Kurapika’s chest.

 

The force throws Kurapika and Killua to the ground, and they hit the ground hard. At first Killua is confused because there wasn’t anything in front of him, nothing to stop him from running. But then he realizes that it’s Kurapika, realizes that he’s no longer alone, and Killua grabs onto Kurapika’s shirt, balling the fabric in his fists.

 

“Killua?” Kurapika asks, alarmed. The breath has been knocked out of him. “Are you okay?”

 

Killua wants to say no, he’s not okay just as much as he wants to be able to brush it off and admit he’s fine. But he can’t find his words, his throat nothing but cotton. He feels like he was running for decades. His legs are sore, his arms hurt. Killua takes in a deep and shaky breath and forces his fingers to let go of Kurapika’s shirt.

 

He sits back on his legs, his chest heaving. Closing his eyes throws him back into the pitch black void he found himself in, but opening them makes the ground bend and swirl beneath him. There is no winning, but he’d rather be nauseous than paralyzed with fear.

 

“Killua,” Kurapika says. The whole world seems to be shaking. Kurapika’s looking at him with concerned eyes, a gentle hand resting on top of Killua’s, grounding him. Trying to ground him. There’s no use being anchored when the ground underneath you is quicksand. Killua’s slipping through, and he feels like he’s going to be gone forever.

 

But then just as quick as he was running, the feeling dissipates, the sea parting and leaving everything drenched with salty water but solid. Killua’s head stops spinning, but his thoughts are still whirling.

 

“Killua,” Kurapika says again, maybe for the third time, maybe for the fourteenth. There’s worry in his eyes that wasn’t there a moment ago. Or maybe it was there all along and Killua is just now noticing it. Or maybe it will be there and Killua’s seeing the start of it. Time is whispers of fog above him, trying to find a solid form. He could have been running for hours, sitting here for days, Kurapika saying his name for seconds. “Killua.” The hand on his hand curls around his wrist, tugging him forward.

 

Then Killua is standing – he was always standing? – and the ground underneath him is stable and the hand on his wrist is cold but not uninviting. He finds his voice. His voice finds him. “Where were you?”

 

Kurapika looks surprised by the question. “We were putting our stuff down and then you just left.” He lets go of Killua’s wrist. He eyes Killua warily. “Where were _you_?”

 

“I–,” Killua looks behind him, expecting to see the dark hallway stretch and loom in indescribable patterns. Instead the hallway is short and brightly lit. Brightly lit. But didn’t the lights not work? Why is it so light then? “I was on the third floor with you guys. We found the attic.”

 

Kurapika looks genuinely confused. “Are you okay?” He puts his hand on Killua’s forehead, testing for his temperature. “We brought some medicine.”

 

Killua swats Kurapika’s hand away, a petulant act to match his now troubled tone. “Why are you asking if I’m okay? I’m _fine_.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“Yes!” Killua huffs. Why is Kurapika not believing him? Kurapika was right by him the entire time, until he... wasn’t. “We got here a few hours ago, we were on the third floor, we were looking for the attic. We _found_ the attic. You guys _left_. There was a door... Then there wasn’t. The- the- the.” Killua’s chest hurts, his breath coming in quick and painful gasps. He can’t finish his sentence. He can’t describe the hallway and the way it seemed to never want to let him go. He can’t.

 

Kurapika waits a moment before replying. He reaches a hand out, and then thinks better of the action. “Killua,” he says softly, carefully, as if Killua’s name is an item too fragile to say with force. “We just got here.”

 

Killua shakes his head. “No. The- the.” Again, he can’t.

 

Kurapika steps forward. “Killua, is there even a third story to this house?”

 

Killua’s eyes widen. “No,” he says, shaking his head. He scrambles backwards, as if distancing himself from Kurapika will make his words any less true. “No,” he says again. His back hits the wall, shocking him. But wasn’t there just an entire hallway behind him? He slides down to the ground. Kurapika, alarmed, rushes to his side.

 

“There’s something wrong with this house,” Killua says. _The walls change, time doesn’t follow the rules it should, there’s something intoxicating and mesmerizing that pulls you in and is reluctant to let you go,_ he doesn’t say.

 

“I thought you said you didn’t believe in ghosts.”

 

“I didn’t say that,” Killua says. His chest feels like it’s going to burst. Is this what a heart attack feels like?

 

“Should we–,” Kurapika stops and amends his questions. “Do you want to leave?”

 

The logical part of Killua is screaming at him to leave, to _escape._ It’s telling him that this house is alive and breathing and wanting. Hisoka had said this house was haunted – the entire town had said this house is haunted – but this isn’t a haunting. Killua may not believe in ghosts, but he believes in this, that this is something _more_.

 

“No,” Killua finally says. He leans his head back and lets it rest on the wall. He breathes slowly. “Let’s stay the night.”

 

Killua wants to know whatever this _more_ is.

 

\--

 

“Onii-san, are we almost there yet?” Alluka whines, dragging her feet with every step. Killua doesn’t blame her; it’s a hot day and the sun is unrelenting. Killua wipes sweat off his forehead. They’ve barely walked a mile, but with this heat it feels as if it’s been five.

 

Killua would have preferred to go by himself, but this morning Illumi had asked him to walk Alluka home. An unusual suggestion, hinting that Illumi knew exactly where Killua was headed after school. Illumi was not outwardly expressing his disapproval, but this message is just enough to let Killua know where Illumi stands. But Illumi not wanting Killua near the house makes Killua want to go to the house even more.

 

“Almost,” Killua promises, squeezing Alluka’s hand. She looks up at him and smiles, all bright eyes that catch the just right amount of sunlight and white teeth that are on just the right side of being blinding. “It’s the next house.”

 

The house looks exactly the same as it did the week before. After Killua’s freakout (That’s what Leorio had jokingly called it when he walked into the hallway and saw Kurapika helping Killua up from the floor. He apologized when Kurapika had sent him a nasty look.), the three of them were on edge, sitting in the biggest room on the first floor and waiting for something to happen. The sunset came and went, leaving only heightened anticipation in its wake.

 

“I am getting weird vibes from this house,” Leorio complained. He rubbed his hands up and down his arms, trying to warm himself up. With no natural light, the only items that kept the place somewhat illuminated were the small flashlights Kurapika had insisted they packed. But the worst part of the night time was the cold. They had blankets, but this kind of cold was not the type to be covered with warm thoughts and scratchy fabrics. It was an unnatural type of cold and the three of them knew it, but there was nothing to be done.

 

“I know. Me too,” Killua said. They were playing cards, trying to calm their nerves without admitting out loud that their nerves were frazzled. Killua looked at the cards in his hand and realized that he did not know what game they were playing. The had started with Bullshit, made their way to Rummy, and were now playing cribbage? Killua played the four of hearts, not knowing if that was the right card or not.

 

“Pair for two,” Leorio said. Kurapika marked two tallies under Killua’s name. So it _was_ cribbage, but Killua was still hazy on the rules.

 

“Are you sure this isn’t just an elaborate prank Hisoka is pulling on you?” Leorio asked. It was not the first time he had asked that, but Leorio was known for being thorough.

 

“No,” Killua replied just as Kurapika played his own cards, announcing something about the points that went straight over Killua’s head. Hisoka carried a magical aura around him, but this was out of his league. There was something in this house, Killua was sure of it. “This is not something that Hisoka would do.”

 

Whatever was happening was bigger than Hisoka, bigger than Killua, bigger than the three of them. But as big as it was, Killua didn’t doubt that Hisoka had more knowledge about it. Hisoka was not one to challenge people to random dares; there was always a meaning behind them. Hisoka was not transparent by any means, but Killua thought that he would be able to see through Hisoka’s actions a bit more.

 

What was the point of all of this?

 

“I think we should wait until sunrise,” Killua said. “Don’t things have a higher chance of happening at times when the days cross? Something about more magic or–” Killua made a vague hand gesture. “–something.”

 

“You know an awful lot for someone who claims that they don’t believe in ghosts,” Leorio commented. Killua glared at him. “Fine, fine! I was just making an observation. We can wait until sunrise, see if anything happens.”

 

“What do you think will happen?” Kurapika asked.

 

Killua admitted that he wasn’t sure.

 

And Killua is still not sure what is going to happen. Nothing had happened at sunrise, and once dawn was truly awake and giving in to morning, they had packed up all their stuff and went to get breakfast. Killua had checked the entire house once more before they had left. Kurapika was right; there wasn’t a third floor. He hadn’t told neither Kurapika nor Leorio that he was coming back today. There really was no reason for him to come back.

 

There really _is_ no reason for him to come back.

 

All the events could have just happened solely in Killua’s head, but Killua feels sane.

 

“You’re not going crazy,” Alluka says, dropping Killua’s hand. Killua must have been more visibly distressed that he thought he was. He tries to school his features; he doesn't like worrying his younger sister.

 

Killua walks towards the house and to the porch. Now that he's closer to it, he notices that there is something different about the house. Something’s changed since the last time he was here, but he can’t put his finger on top of it. It’s a subtle difference, but it’s still there. What is it?

 

“Stay right here, okay?” Killua says. “I’ll be right back.”

 

Killua goes to open the door, but a hand on his shirt stops him and tugs him back. “Alluka,” Killua protests. “I’ll be right back.”

 

Alluka doesn’t let go of Killua’s shirt. “Why are we at his house?” she asks, voice thin and devoid of emotion. Killua looks at her, wondering who Alluka is referring to. Her eyes are pitch black.

 

It’s not the first time that this has happened, but Killua can never get used to it. He thinks he will never be able to get used to the way that Alluka will sometimes stop and say things that never make sense, say things that are completely out of place, out of time, but still be the piece that completes the puzzle.  

 

The sun is shining, hot and bright, but all Killua can feel is cold.

 

“Alluka,” Killua says slowly, putting his hand on Alluka’s. Her hold on Killua’s shirt comes away easily. “Whose house is this?”

 

“Killua,” she says and Alluka never calls Killua by his first name. But her eyes are so dark and so far away that Killua gets a feeling that he is not talking to his little sister anymore. He’s talking to someone else, another little girl that lives another life in another time. He doesn’t want to believe, but he’s left with no other option. “We shouldn’t be here.”

 

Killua tries to ask why, but his words are stuck in the back of his throat. Goosebumps crawl onto his skin.

 

“He doesn’t want us here.” She shakes her head. Squeezes Killua’s hand. Her grip is not hard but it is a forewarning. “Killua, why are we here if he doesn’t want us here?”

 

“I don’t know,” he manages. It’s all he can manage.

 

Behind them, the door swings open and hits the wall with a loud thud. Killua jumps, every part of him rattled to hell and back, but Alluka stays still. There is no breeze.

 

“Oh,” she says, voice quiet as if she’s dealing out a secret. “He doesn’t want _me_ here.” She takes her hand out of Killua’s grasp, closes her eyes, and then drops to the floor.

 

Killua, stuck in between the limbo of being frozen with fear and being sluggish from the oppressive summer heat, watches his sister hit the ground without comprehending the actual event. Killua can’t do anything but stare. Is this what paralysis feels like? The inability to move even though you want to? The inability to stop your brain from running and running without your permission? The thought of being everywhere at once but nowhere at the exact same time?

 

Killua feels like he’s being drawn to the house, but maybe his autonomy was just a thinly veiled lie he told himself to keep himself sane. But the tree outside was so beautiful and the attic was meant to be explored and – and Alluka is still on the ground and Killua can finally move so he does.

 

“Alluka, Alluka, Alluka,” Killua says, a mantra of confusion and doubt and worry and fear. He shakes his sister’s shoulders before gathering her up and carrying her. They need to go, they need to get out of here.

 

Alluka stirs. She cracks an eye open and the movement looks as if it’s taking up all of her strength. “Onii-san,” she whispers. Her eyes are clear. “Gon Freecss doesn’t mean to scare you.” She closes her eyes and presses her face to Killua’s chest. Her breathing is fluttery but stable.

 

Killua’s heart is beating so rapidly that he wouldn't be surprised if Alluka could feel his heartbeat. He starts walking away from the house, trying to stay calm for both his and Alluka’s sake. He shouldn’t turn around, he really doesn't want to turn around. Every fiber in his being is screaming at him to look forward and keep walking.

 

He looks behind him.

 

The door is closed, or maybe it was never open in the first place.

 

Killua starts running.

 

\--

 

The smell of grease and carbonation hangs thick in Leorio’s room. It’s not a small room by any means, but shoving stacks of overdue library books, piles of washed clothes, and three teenage boys inside will make any room cramped. The window is propped open, but the hot breeze that is floating through makes the room stuffier than it already is.

 

Killua is sprawled on Leorio’s bed, his slice of pizza sitting on a paper plate next to his head. He’s already had six slices and he feels sick to his stomach. Nevertheless, he grabs the piece and starts eating it. Call it childish tenacity or just plain stupid teenage boy antics, but he forces it down. God, he really is going to be sick.

 

“There’s nothing about Gon Freecss,” Kurapika announces. Killua wasn’t originally going to tell his friends about his second trip, but he was so shaken after what Alluka had said that he knew that he couldn’t just go home. Going home meant answering questions, questions that Killua had no answer to. He had run to Kurapika’s house instead, and Kurapika had been gracious enough to not ask questions other than asking if they wanted water, maybe a little food.

 

Killua told him the name that Alluka had said, but he didn’t say that Alluka had told him, and then he and Alluka went home. Alluka seemed to remember none of what she had said, and Killua didn’t know whether to feel relieved or worried.

 

Two weeks later, and the name still brings a chill over Killua’s skin. He’s seen the name over and over again, trying to find pieces of the past to put together. He had found nothing other than what he already knew. He had even paid Milluki to look for him, but his older brother had found nothing but irrelevant information. It was frustrating, it still is frustrating.

 

Kurapika’s research follows the same winding yet circuitous pattern. “I couldn’t find anything on him,” Kurapika says after taking a sip of his drink. “Well, at least not on the Gon Freecss that lived in that house. There are Gon Freecss from twenty-five, fourty, fifty years ago. The name’s a lot more common that you would think, but there’s nothing about the boy in that house.”

 

“So all we know is that the kid died when he was young, right?’ Leorio asks for clarification. “And now he’s apparently haunting the house?”

 

“Yup,” Killua says.

 

“And you’re thinking about going back to the house, aren’t you?” Kurapika asks.

 

“Yup,” Killua repeats.

 

“Why?” Kurapika asks. “You’ve said yourself that something is wrong with the house. Both times that you have gone something weird has happened. Why go again? Why even do this research?”

 

Kurapika has a point. Why? Why does Killua keep insisting on finding more and more about the house when he said that he doesn’t even believe in ghosts? But Killua has seen the way the house acts, has heard the words that Alluka spilled out. The facts are there, it’s just taking Killua’s mind a little bit to come to terms with everything.

 

Ghosts exist, and this one is pulling at him, tugging at him, urging at him to accept the truth.

 

But how does he explain that? How does Killua tell Kurapika and Leorio that there _is_ something off about this house, how the two times he has gone there he feels like he should have never left, how the house is calling to him, how maybe he wants to answer it.

 

Instead he says, “The house doesn’t want you guys there. That’s why it’s been acting like that.” Acting like that, as if all the house has done is slam some doors and not let the lights works. Acting like that, not as if it’s made Killua repeat hours of his day and cause Alluka to not be Alluka any more.

 

“What do you mean that it doesn’t want us there?” Leorio asks.

 

Killua is not sure what to say. He could say the truth, say that Alluka had told him that the house doesn’t want others there. But he would have to then explain why Alluka’s words hold such deep meaning. His friends aren’t going to believe him. Hell, he barely believes it himself. Belief is such a flimsy word for the what the world has to offer. “I just know, okay?” he decides on saying. It’s safe, if a bit juvenile.

 

“You’re going to go back no matter what we say,” Leorio surmises.

 

Killua looks up at the ceiling. “Yup,” he says. He reaches down to grab another piece of pizza. He’s not hungry, but he needs something to distract himself. The pizza is cold, and God, he _really_ is going to be sick.

 

\--

 

It’s early in the morning, early enough that the moon and the stars are the only thing that are lighting up the sky. Well, should be lighting up the sky. It’s a new moon, apparently, because the moon is nowhere to be seen. But wasn’t it just a full moon a few days ago?

 

Lately it feels like time is running one way and Killua is being pulled the other way. Maybe it’s the house; maybe it’s Gon Freecss.

 

Killua goes to open the door, trying to be as quiet as he can be. He’s not sneaking out, but it would be best for him to draw as little attention as possible. With a house this size, going around unnoticed is not an impossible feat.

 

But right before Killua is about to open the door, his notices something to the side of him. He leaves the door closed and turns to face his brother. “Aniki,” he says.

 

Illumi steps out from the shadows. He’s tall and lean and the definition of intimidating, but Killua just finds him annoying. “Killu, what do you think you’re doing?”

 

Killua looks towards the door, contemplates booking the hell out of there, but decides against it. “Leaving,” he says.

 

“Listen, Killu,” Illumi says. The shadows on his face seem to grow and twist, but he doesn’t move. “Drop this whole ghost thing. This is something that you don’t want to mess around with.”

 

Killua stays silent, not even knowing if he was supposed to respond in the first place.

 

“Hisoka was just taunting you. Trust me, this is in your best interest.”

 

“Hisoka has no part in this,” Killua says, his voice louder than he meant for it to be. They both stop and stay quiet for a moment, letting the silence lull and making sure that no one is heading their way. The last thing the both of them want is for their family to hound them with questions.

 

When no one comes, Illumi says, “Did you ever wonder why Hisoka dared you, Killu? Hisoka doesn’t do things just because. He knows what in the house.  He knows what it can do to you.”

 

Killua moves to open the door and Illumi puts his arm on the door. He’s not going to be letting Killua leave until this conversation is over. “I know what’s in the house, too, _Aniki_.”

 

“You think you know what’s in the house.”

 

“I know,” he says. “Now let me leave.”

 

Illumi stares at him, as if by his eyes alone he is going to persuade Killua to leave it all, to forget about the house, to stay away and never go back. It might have worked on Killua when he was younger, but not now. Killua is too involved with to let it drop it easily.

 

“Aniki, let me leave.” Killua yanks the door open and surprisingly Illumi lets it open.

 

“Don’t say I didn’t tell you,” Illumi says.

 

“Fine,” Killua huffs. “You told me.”

 

“Killu– what would cause a spirit to linger? What do they have to remember to make them stay?”

 

Killua ignores him and steps outside. Even though the dawn is starting to lighten the sky, the air is uninviting.

 

\--

 

One of the reasons that Killua didn’t want to believe in ghosts is because the supernatural freaks him out. Give him sociopaths and thriller movies. Give him murder mysteries and suspense.

 

Give him the paranormal and Killua will be out of there. Once Leorio and Kurapika had invited Killua out to the movies and against his better judgement Killua agreed to go. It was some shitty horror story and the effects were so cheesy that they were laughable. But Killua was not laughing; he was sitting there, transfixed and terrified in his seat.

 

He couldn’t go to sleep that night. He couldn't go to sleep for the rest of the week. Kurapika and Leorio have not invited him out to a horror movie since.

 

But yet he is here, standing in front of the house that Killua knows is haunted. Like a moth drawn to light. Like a moth drawn to its demise.

 

He leaves his skateboard by the porch, (there was no way he was going to walk all the way to the house and Killua still hasn’t gotten his license.) and walks up to the door. It opens without protest and Killua smiles. The house is big and filled with the unknown, but it’s not scary. It doesn’t carry the same darkening aura as it did when Killua was here with Leorio and Kurapika. There’s nothing off about it like it was when Killua brought Alluka.

 

Alluka was right: Gon Freecss doesn’t mean to scare him.

 

But it still feels a little like déjà vu. He feels as if he’s been in this exact same situation, and now he is just going through the motions. He feels as if in a different world he has done this, and now all that is left is muscle memory. Time is fickle, roundabout, and maddening.

 

Killua steps into the house with nothing but himself, and he is completely prepared to wait.

 

\--

 

He does not have to wait long. He walks in and goes all the way to the top story. It’s the third floor. There’s a door at the edge of the hallway and Killua instinctively knows that that is the attic. It looks different from before, but memories are always clouded things.

 

The door is open, unsurprisingly, and the stairs moan under his weight. The attic is a sparse space: there are a few bruised boxes in the corner and a cracked mirror lays on the floor. The ceiling slopes upward and there is one small window that streams in light. The sunlight catches on the particles of dust, creating a faux snowstorm.

 

In the middle of the flurry sits a boy, cross-legged and with his back to Killua. This is him. This is the anomaly to Killua’s preconceived beliefs. This is the boy whose death was so insignificant that neither Killua nor Kurapika could find information on it. This is the boy whose death was so significant that Killua felt compelled to chase him.

 

Killua takes one step forward but it feels like a thousand. The floorboards creak, but the boy doesn’t move. “Gon?” Killua asks, uncertain. Killua knows it’s Gon, but there’s still an air of disbelief around him. It’s a maybe-if-you-don’t-move-then-this-can-all-be-a-dream kind of disbelief.

 

The boy– Gon. _Gon_ turns and the first thing that Killua thinks is _He is so bright._ The light seems to wrap around him, giving him a sense of being otherworldly and ethereal. Both are strikingly true and Killua doesn’t know what to do with this information, so he stares. There is so much about the situation– so much about Gon– to take in.

 

“Killua! Killua!” Gon exclaims. He stands and rushes towards Killua, wrapping him in a hug. Gon is solid and warm and if Killua didn’t know better, he would think that Gon was alive. “Killua!” Gon says again. “I can’t believe it’s actually you, Killua. Killua, Killua.”

 

He says Killua’s name like he’s been unable to say it for a hundred years and now he’s trying to make up for the lost time.

 

“Killua, Killua, Killua,” Gon sing-songs into the crook of Killua’s neck. “I knew if I waited I would get to see you.” He sounds so happy, relieved, overjoyed. Killua doesn’t know how to respond. He feels like he should know Gon, but he doesn’t. Killua is not hugging him back.

 

But Gon doesn't notice that Killua isn’t holding him back because he moves his hands to cup Killua’s face. His hands are soft and even though Killua has a couple of inches on him, the height difference isn’t enough to become a bother. “I was so lonely without you, Killua,” he says, searching Killua’s face for … for something that he doesn’t find because his hands drop from Killua’s face suddenly. Gon takes a step back.

 

His hands ball into fists. His face drops, all ebullience falling. It’s like watching a star explode. It flickers as it dies, then suddenly there is too much, then not enough.

 

The flickering comes in his words.

 

“I– I thought,” he says, squeezing his hands and biting his bottom lip, holding back a flood of pure, raw emotion. “Killua, I thought that. I just. I thought–” Gon stops to take in a lungful of air. Killua knows he should comfort Gon because the boy is in obvious pain, but Killua doesn’t know where to start. Killua doesn’t even know what he did, but maybe that’s exactly why Gon is upset.

 

Gon’s eyes are brimming with tears, and he says, “You’re not my Killua.” The tears escape and fall down his cheeks, a neverending stream. “It’s not fair!” he yells. The room shakes with his anger. “It’s not fair!” he screams.

 

The too much comes as the room moves and twists underneath Killua’s feet.

 

The mirror on the floor shatters and the shards scatter every which way, but miraculously none of them hit Killua. The pieces split again into more pieces and as Gon cries and cries and cries, they keep breaking and breaking and breaking into smaller pieces until there’s nothing left of them but the memory and the dust in the air.

 

The boxes, on the other hand, don’t break. They don’t rip, but they shift violently side to side, threatening to spill over until one of them actually does. It falls to its side, unsealed top cracking open, and photographs come tumbling out, falling into a perfect circle around Gon.

 

Killua takes a step backwards and the photographs start swirling in the air. Gon crumbles to the ground, the epicenter of all this madness.

 

The not enough appears suddenly.

 

Gon cries as if the only reason he lingered in this world was to make Killua hear his suffering.

 

He shakily lifts his hands and the photographs float up with his moments, but Killua doubts that Gon knows what he is doing.

 

The pictures start swirling and soon they’re moving fast enough for Killua to feel the wind that they generate. They move faster and faster until Gon’s image is a staccato of life, a stop motion animation with too many stops.

 

Then Gon drops his hands, looks at Killua as he does, and says, “I’m sorry.”

 

The photographs come hurling towards him, edge over edge. Razor sharp tips brush the sides of his cheeks, the tips of his clothes, but none of them touch enough to leave a mark. They flutter noiselessly to the floor and in front of him, Gon is no longer there.

 

A heavy silence hangs in the frozen air.

 

Killua falls to the ground, his hands out to brace his impact. The room feels as if Killua has stepped into the arctic. His breath comes out in bursts of fog in front of his face. He starts crying, but he doesn’t know why. He feels like he should be devastated, or maybe it’s just the memory of devastation. The memory of being so sad, your heart broken so completely that all you can feel is sadness. This memory is just a feeling, a deep question that Killua should remember.

 

 _Should_.

 

He doesn’t.

 

A lone photo lands in front of Killua. He wipes away his tears just enough so he can pick it up and look at it. It’s of Gon at the beach, smiling so widely that all Killua can see is white teeth and tanned skin. He looks younger than he does now, but if it’s because he was actually younger when the picture was taken or because somehow being ageless has aged him, Killua doesn’t know.

 

But there are two people in the photo. Gon is flashing a peace sign with one hand, his other hand around the shoulder of … someone, someone, someone.

 

Killua whirls and he looks around him. It’s hundreds and hundreds of the same picture staring at him. No, no. That’s not right. The whole room is bathed with different photographs, but the pictures all are of the same two people, all taken in the same place. Weeks of memories cover the room.

 

Killua looks at the picture in his own hand. His own face, just slightly younger, stares back at him.

 

\--

 

Killua avoids the house for the rest of the week. He debates every night while he is in his bed, the photograph stored in the topmost shelf of his nightstand, if he should tell Leorio and Kurapika. He comes to the same _maybe_ conclusion every time, leaving him no closer to an actual answer.

 

They might suspect something since Killua has been showing up to school with exhaustion rolling like vapor waves off of him, the purple shadows under his eyes darkening until they’re a permanent black. Even after Killua finds a pocket of sleep to relax into, his dreams can be better classified as nightmares. His subconscious tortures him to rewatching Gon collapse onto the floor, crying tears that gather into a thrashing sea that snatches up all the air pockets and drowns Killua. But that’s just one nightmare. Another one has the photograph’s knife-like edges piercing his chest, his heart, letting him bleed out a painful death. Both versions have no one ever finding his body because, like Kurapika had pointed out, the house has no third story, let alone an attic.

 

He’s walking out of school, running on nothing but fumes and stubborn determination at this point, when he feels the sudden urge to go back to the house. He abruptly stops walking and Kurapika, who had been walking by his side, looks back at him, perplexed. Kurapika starts to ask a question when Killua interrupts, “I need to go, sorry.”

 

Kurapika’s mouth forms an O of surprise. He looks like he is going to ask another question when he closes his mouth. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says instead.

 

“Tomorrow,” Killua agrees before turning and walking the other direction. It takes all his willpower to not break out in a sprint, but he knows running would make Kurapika even more suspicious. Every step is weighted with anticipation, and when Killua turns and no longer sees Kurapika, he starts running.

 

The house isn’t far from their school, but Killua has to take a moment to catch his breath before walking to the house. Or more specifically, the back of the house. Killua doesn’t put thought behind his actions, he just moves.

 

Killua pushes open the gate to the backyard, grimacing as his hands touch the damp mold that’s grown over the wood. It screeches close behind him and Killua freezes as the gate’s rusted hinges give and the gate crashes to the ground. Despite the ominous action, Killua doesn’t feel frightened. Alluka’s words echo in his head.

 

Gon Freecss doesn’t mean to scare you.

 

There’s a short pathway that leads to the rest of the yard, and Killua follows the dirt trail. There are no footsteps on the ground except the ones that he made, but he knows that Gon is here. Gon has to be here; Killua wouldn’t be feeling this tug unless Gon was.

 

The path stops after a few yards and gives way to grass. The inside of the house might have been mildly kept up by who knows who, but the backyard is nothing but nature. The grass has grown tall and wild and every step forward that Killua takes makes him feel as if he’s slipping into another world.

 

In the center of the yard is the huge tree that Killua saw through the window, calling to him, beckoning him to stay and dream forever. Killua had thought that he was making it up, since the entire third floor never seemed to exist. But it does exist, and the huge tree in front of him is very alive.

 

Killua cannot feel any wind, but the trees at the very top shake as if there is a breeze. Killua stares up at the spot as it ceases moving and watches as the leaves begin to quiver again. Killua watches the start and stop movement until the entire tree moves with a phantom gust.

 

A single leaf falls and lands on Killua’s head. He takes it off the top of his head and looks at it. It’s an ordinary leaf. He lets it fall out of his hands and drop to the ground, shrugs off his backpack, and starts climbing.

 

\--

 

The tree is huge, but the climb is short. Killua reaches the first layer of branches with minimal difficulty; he’s been climbing trees since he can remember. Finding knobs and edges to grab onto is hardly a problem since age has worn down parts of the tree into sizeable handholds.

 

He reaches the second layer, then the third. Surrounded by a whirlwind of leaves and arching branches and filtered green light, Killua takes a moment to appreciate the beauty around him.

 

But Killua didn’t just stop to stare at the nature around him. He stopped because there’s a person, a boy, sitting in the branch above him.

 

“Gon,” Killua says, his voice more stable than he thought it would be.

 

Gon shifts, but he doesn’t look down. Killua takes it as an invitation to move up. He moves sideways so he won’t be jumping right on top of Gon, and then he lifts himself up to the branch. His feet dangle off the edge, unafraid.

 

“I thought I had scared Killua off,” Gon says, not looking in Killua’s direction. He’s looking to the ground, but the gloss in his eyes say that his mind is miles away. He’s sitting cross-legged, and Killua wonders how he doesn’t tip over and fall off. It must be a ghost thing, but the light reflects off of Gon, doesn’t pass through him. He’s solid. Maybe it’s just a Gon thing. “I didn’t mean to scare Killua off.”

 

Gon looks up and Killua can see the regret in his eyes, in the way his mouth is slightly turned downward, not yet a frown, but the beginnings of one.

 

“You didn’t scare me,” Killua reassures. Gon isn’t the one who scared him, it was way the objects in the room were at Gon’s unconscious command and most of all it was the pictures –so many pictures– with Killua’s face and no memory attached to them.

 

“Really?” Gon says excitedly. He doesn't wait for Killua to reply before he’s up in his space, hugging all the air out of Killua. They wobble, and for a split second Killua is terrified that they’re going to fall. The ground is a long way off and their fall wouldn’t be a smooth decline either. But they don’t fall and Gon is still hugging him tight.  

Still hugging, Killua whispers, “I know you, don’t I?” His words feel like a secret, a grenade that’s never supposed to go off. Killua has pulled the pin.

 

Gon untangles himself from Killua and looks at him. “Why does Killua say that? I thought Killua said that he didn’t remember.”

 

They’re so close that all Killua has to do is put out his hand and then he’s touching Gon, but the distance between them feels more than a physical separation. “I don’t remember,” Killua says, not knowing how to start his explanation but thinking that he needs to begin somewhere. “But I feel like I should. I feel like I’ve done all this before, but I don’t remember any of it.”

 

“Killua doesn’t remember anything?” Gon asks, his words so quiet that Killua can barely catch them.

 

“Gon, what am I supposed to remember?”

 

Gon bites his bottom lip, chewing out his response, but doesn’t reply.

 

Killua tries again, “Who are you?”

 

“I’m your best friend, Killua,” Gon says, a small smile on his face.

 

\--

 

Killua doesn’t once doubt Gon as the boy continues to explain the past, unraveling all the information that Killua had dug up, piecing together all the emotions that Killua has felt.

 

“The last time we met was on a beach,” Gon says. “We spent two weeks together. It was summer, and the ocean was so blue. I forgot to put on sunscreen and I had such bad burns on my shoulders that I couldn’t put on a shirt for two days. We built sandcastles that could only withstand a few waves, but I thought they were one of the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Killua remembered everything and so did I. That was a good life.”

 

Killua can feel the sun on his back and smell the salt in the air. He has so many question that he wants to ask, but he knows that Gon has a lot to tell. He stays quiet and lets Gon rewind forgotten memories.

 

“But a lot of the times I don’t get to see Killua. The lives where I do meet Killua are the best ones, but sometimes Killua doesn't remember the lives he’s lived. Maybe some lives I don’t either, I don’t know. But in this life I remembered.”

 

He remembers how Kurapika had explained that the name Gon Freecss was a more common name than expected.

 

If they’re all the same Gon Freecss, then Gon has lived life after life after life. And he always dies young, Killua surmises, his stomach twisting unpleasantly with the revelation.

 

Gon pauses before he says, “I waited a long time, though. I died before I got to meet you, Killua. I missed Killua so much and I knew that I would get to see Killua in this life. I just knew it.”

 

Killua gets the feeling that it’s the same type of knowing that draws him to the house, that tells him there is something important to be discovered, that there is something here that Killua is meant to find.

 

“So I waited and when Killua came with his friends, I wanted to tell Killua that I was here. I hoped that you would remember. I wasn’t ready for the chance that Killua wouldn’t.”

 

Gon Freecss has never meant to scare Killua.

 

“I think the lives where I see Killua but never get a chance to talk to him are the worst. I think fate’s cruel. Killua is so close, but always so far away at the same time. I don’t want to live a life without you in it,” Gon admits.

 

“Me neither,” Killua says, only realizing that his words are true once he’s already spoken them outloud. “I mean, I don’t want to live a life without you in it.” His throat tightens and the backs of his eyes start to burn. “But at least we get this life?”

 

Gon smiles, something small and melancholic. “Will you stay here with me for a little longer?” He looks up towards the top of the tree, and then looks back at Killua, a mischievous expression painted on his face. “I’ll race Killua to the top!”

 

Gon takes off without another word, and Killua follows close on his heels. They climb, branch by branch, laughing all the way. They reach the top at the exact same moment, but both boys insist that they had gotten there first.

 

“Fine,” Killua huffs even though he is not upset in the slightest. “I’ll let you win this one.” He smiles as Gon cheers. Killua hadn’t noticed before, but the leaves on the tree thinned out as they climbed up. From where the two of them are at, they can see the sun setting. It’s another cotton-candy sunset.

 

Time slipped underneath Killua’s feet, but this time Killua finds himself content with that fact.

 

“Did the house have three stories?” Killua asks.

 

Gon nods. “It did when I died. There was an attic too. Ging sold the house and the next owners got rid of it. I thought that making the house look like it used to would help Killua with his memories,” he explains.

 

Killua laughs and when Gon gives him an inquisitive look Killua says, “Making the hallways impossibly long was going to help my memories?”

 

Gon blushes, but the sunset is already throwing yellows and oranges towards his tan face so the flush is almost unnoticeable. “I’m not used to being a ghost! In my all my lives, I’ve never been a ghost before.”

 

“I don’t believe in ghosts,” Killua says.

 

“Then what am I?”

 

“You’re Gon,” he says, as if the entire universe is as simple as that.

 

“I’m Gon,” Gon repeats. He thinks for a moment and then repeats, “I’m Gon. You’re Killua.”

 

Killua smiles. Sometimes things are that simple. “I’m Killua.”

 

The two boys look at each and dissolve into giggles. Once Killua thinks that the laughing fit is over, he looks at Gon and starts laughing again and again and again.

 

Finally, when Killua’s stomach is sore and Gon has tears of amusement running down his cheeks, they stop.

 

“Can you stay?” Gon asks.

 

Killua says yes and they make their way back to the branches they were at. They talk as the sun goes down and the stars come up. Gon remembers so many of his lives, and he recalls story after story. Killua listens, soothed by Gon’s voice, by Gon’s stories, by the thought that he’s lived through some of these memories as well.

 

It never gets truly dark, though. Killua has never seen a firefly in his life, but he knows that they’re what’s floating around them. Mouth open in awe, he watches as they dance above them, creating twinkling patterns, nature’s kaleidoscope.

 

Gon, finishing up with a story about a missed train and thermoses of cold coffee, cups his hands around one of the lightning bugs, capturing it, and brings it close to Killua. He opens his hand and the bug’s light is bright as it flies away from the two of them.

 

“Aren’t they beautiful?” Gon asks.

 

“I’ve never seen one before,” Killua admits. “I didn’t even know there were fireflies around here.”

 

“There aren’t,” Gon says, catching one again only to let it go a second later. “I thought about them, and then they were here.” Gon squeezes his eyes shut, his tongue between his lips as he concentrates. One by one the fireflies disappear until all that’s left is a one on the branch closest to Gon.

 

Gon opens his eyes and looks around, smiling. He closes his eyes again and the fireflies all come back, buzzing around as if they didn’t just vanish from thin air.

 

The fireflies stay until Gon falls asleep. The last thing Killua remembers is watching a lone firefly circle around his own head, then it is morning and Killua’s hot from the sun and stiff from sleeping upright. He goes to complain to Gon, but then notices that Gon isn’t there.

 

But the lone firefly is still circling above his head, its light blazing strong despite the daytime.

 

Killua captures it and then lets it fly away.

 

\--

 

Killua comes to the house for two weeks straight, and he always finds Gon waiting for him.

 

One time he finds Gon in the kitchen, the floor covered with white powder that Killua figures is flour. Gon smiles sheepishly in his direction when Killua walks in the room, as if a small smile is going to explain the messy state of the room. Nonetheless, they try their hand at baking, and the cookies come out so terrible, burnt to a crisp and hard as a rock, that they decide to take the two dozen mistakes out into the front and throw them as far as they can. The cookies skitter on the pavement when they land and crumble into black chunks. If they weren’t inedible before, they are now.

 

Another time Killua finds Gon sitting on the porch steps, his head in his hands as he stares off in thought. Killua sits next to him, waiting for Gon to notice that he is not alone. He doesn’t, and Killua pokes Gon in the stomach to get his attention. Or he tries to poke Gon. His finger goes completely through Gon’s body and sends cold shocks up Killua’s arm. Gon turns, lackadaisical, and does not seem surprised that Killua is by his side. Killua hesitantly pokes him again, and Gon is solid.

 

“How’s Alluka?” Gon asks.

 

Killua, surprised by the question, blinks. Killua’s never mentioned his sister before, but Gon’s question does not feel novel. “Good,” he says. “I think she would want to meet you.”

 

It’s Gon’s turned to look surprised. He visibly flinches and shakes his head, forcibly saying, “No.”

 

Killua knows that he should drop it, move onto topics that don’t elicit such a vehement response. But knowing and doing are two separate entities. He pushes on, “Why not? Maybe Kurapika and Leorio can meet you too.”

 

“No!” Gon says and suddenly he is up and walking towards the house. Killua watches as he opens the door and slams it behind him. Killua doesn’t try the door, since he knows that it’s locked, and waits for an hour, two, until Gon comes back outside and sits next to him. They don’t speak, but sometimes you don’t need words to communicate.

 

The last time Killua finds Gon, the boy is up in the tree again. But Gon slides down as soon as Killua calls his name and he lands on the ground nimbly and brushes away the leaves in his hair and the dirt on his knees. He grabs Killua’s hands, smiling and says, “Let’s go on an adventure!”

 

He takes off running, pulling Killua behind him. “Where are we going?” Killua asks. They run out of yard and onto the street and don’t stop there. Gon keeps running, and so does Killua.

 

“An adventure!” Gon exclaims, laughing. The sun is sweet on their skin, but Gon’s smile is even sweeter.

 

“An adventure!” Killua agrees.

 

They take off, the world open and inviting around them.

 

\--

 

Their day has a tone of finality surrounding it. Watching as Gon gives encouragement to sprouting flowers and as he smiles at a family of squirrels scaling a tree, Killua knows that this is the last time he is going to see him.

 

A bubble of emotion forms in the pit of Killua’s stomach, and by the time they make their way back to the house, the bubble is in his chest, so big that it’s almost suffocating him. He doesn’t want this to end, doesn’t want the bubble to pop.

 

“I have to say goodbye,” Gon says. They’re in the backyard, both of them with their backs on the overgrown grass and looking up at the darkening sky. But the tree is so huge that they can only see part of the sky. Neither of them are complaining. The view is not what is important.

 

“What?” Killua asks, as if by keeping Gon from explaining will somehow make the day longer, make Gon stay. Time is too short.

 

“I have to go.”

 

“Are you coming back?”

 

Gon lets out a watery laugh. “Yes,” he says. “But I don’t know if I will remember you.”

 

What he means is that he’s going, but he’ll be back in a different life. Who knows if that different life will have Killua in it or not. Killua doesn't cry at the facts, because Gon is crying enough for the both of them. Unlike his sobs in the attic, Gon’s tears are silent as if he doesn’t realize he’s crying. The tears roll down his cheeks and fall onto the grass silently.

 

Does Killua want to remember all of his past lives if it will make him this sad? The answer’s yes, of course. It’s always been yes. He wants to remember so badly, but for him there is nothing to be remembered. There’s only the space where memories should be, the longing to want more but knowing you are never going to get more.

 

“When I go, will you remember me?” Gon asks, voice small and unsure. He sits up slowly and wipes away his tears with the back of his hand. So he _did_ know he was crying.

 

The sunlight halos Gon and it’s the same as the first time Killua saw him, the first time in this life. Gon is so bright and Killua stands in the dark, not overshadowed but basking in the brilliance. Here is a boy that’s lived life after life, who always dies before he getting the chance to live, and whose eyes are so young but tell stories of decades prior. The least Killua can do make him a promise, so he does.

 

Killua sits up and they wrap their pinkies around each other. Gon leads them in a little chant that ends with the two of them pressing their thumbs together. Gon doesn’t drop his hand, intertwining their fingers loosely. “You’re Killua,” he says. “But you’re not _my_ Killua.”

 

Killua takes in a breath. “There’s a difference?”

 

“I wasn’t supposed to stay,” Gon explains. “I wasn’t supposed to meet you in this life. I died a long time ago, Killua.”

 

“Nine years isn’t that long of a time.”

 

“Nine years is more than half the time I spent alive.”

 

Killua remembers Kurapika saying that the boy in the house had died when he was 16 years old, the same age Killua is. The two of them might both be 16 years old, but they are in completely different parts of their life. Of their afterlife. There is so much separating the two of them. Gon’s right; he isn’t his Killua. They were never meant to be each other’s.

 

“I wanted to believe that this was meant to be,” Gon says. He traces his thumb over Killua’s knuckles, small and comforting circles. Gon’s hands are warm. “That’s why I didn’t want to meet Kurapika and Leorio. I didn’t want them to not me remember me either.” His voice is sad and soft when he says, “I don’t want to be forgotten.”

 

“I just promised you that I would remember you, didn’t I?”

 

Gon bows his head. “Killua did,” he says, a little smile on his lips. He squeezes Killua’s hand once before letting it go and then leans forward, kissing Killua’s cheek. It’s just a soft press of lips on skin, innocent as can be, but Killua goes bright red.

 

But even though he wasn’t expecting the kiss, Killua expects the words that follow.

 

“I loved Killua,” Gon says, unblinking. Only Gon could be this forthright in a situation like this. Gon doesn’t sugar coat things. He’s raw and honest and true, and in another life Killua would have loved him. He could love the Gon in front of him, too, but he knows that this Gon isn’t his to love.

 

Fate is a thunderstorm, beautiful to watch from a distance, cuddled in warm blankets with the roll of thunder and the flash of lightning as your lullaby. But being stuck under the chill of neverending rain and hearing the roar of noise stalk closer and closer is a nightmare.

 

Above them the sky is clear, but Killua knows how capricious the weather can be.

 

“I loved you, too,” Killua says because he can feel it in his memories, his body, his entire being. It’s so strong that it had to be an impossible feat to not be noticed. But recently Killua’s life has been a string of impossible things.

 

“When we meet again, I’ll love you,” Gon says. He leans forward and Killua, expecting it this time, meets him halfway. The kiss is more than just a kiss; it’s unsaid words and overflowing emotions, but most of all it’s another promise.

 

Gon breaks away and rests his forehead on Killua’s. Eyes closed, Killua says, “When we meet again, let’s go on another adventure.”

 

Killua doesn’t have to open his eyes to know that Gon is smiling. He can hear it in the lilt of his voice, in the small bubbly laugh he lets out before speaking. “When we meet again.”

 

They fall asleep on the grass, Gon’s head resting on Killua’s chest, Killua’s arm thrown around Gon’s shoulder. When Killua wakes, the moon is high in the sky and Gon is no longer there. Killua counts the stars and wonders if the Gon in this lifetime likes looking up at the constellations too.

 

\--

 

Once you’re out of elementary school, empty playgrounds will forever look creepy. It’s like the porcelain dolls that stare you down with glassy eyes. It’s a past that can not be relived, memories that can be replayed but not remade.  A soft wind blows through the area, making the swingset groan as a seat moves.

 

Hisoka is sitting on top of the monkey bars, which isn’t much of an accomplishment because the bars reach a whooping five feet. His hair is down, framing his face, and he looks so young get inexplicably old at the same time.

 

“Did you know?” Killua asks. The bet, the house, the boy, _Gon_ , is never mentioned, but what else could they be talking about?

 

“Ah, so you did meet him.” It’s not an answer, but it’s the closest thing Killua is going to get. Hisoka smirks and then asks, “Oh, but did you remember?”

 

Killua stays silent. It’s not an answer, but it might as well be.

 

“Do you believe in ghosts now?”

 

Killua, knowing this conversation is over, starts walking away. He turns, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, but not before asking, “What do you think?”

 

Time flows.

  


**Author's Note:**

> follow me on twitter @ [_onceandforall](https://twitter.com/_onceandforall) or tumblr @ [romanuva](http://romanuva.tumblr.com/) for more crying about gon and killua, among other things.


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